


Only Hope

by Pronunciation_Hermy_One



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Claustrophobia, Halloween, Missing Persons, Multi, Murder, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 19:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pronunciation_Hermy_One/pseuds/Pronunciation_Hermy_One
Summary: They're her life and she is theirs, and then she is gone.





	Only Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fairest Freaky Spooktacular.   
This story is based on the beautiful and haunting aesthetic made by Roo Ojoy. 

It’s cold. 

The world had been filled with warmth and color and now it is dark and frigid. She tries to wet her mouth, but her tongue sticks to the sandpaper that is her lips and she gasps, a dry rasp of pain sounding in the wake of such feeble movement. 

They’ll come for her. 

She’d do no less. 

They always have. 

They always will. 

She’s not certain how she ended up here. There had been a scent. She’s certain of it. She cannot place it now, but it had been distinct and terrifying in the moment. And then there had been darkness. But it doesn’t matter. She knows they’ll get her out. 

They always have. 

She’d do the same. 

They always will. 

There’s always hope.

—————————

There are exactly two reasons she wouldn’t have been home when they had returned and neither of them were a possibility. Because when Hermione Granger says she’ll do something, she bloody well does it. 

_ “I’ll be home at seven.” _

It had been the last thing she’d said to them, sweeping from the Ministry, her cloak trailing behind her. There had been a purpose to her stride and he’d chuckled as Harry swore beside him. 

_ “Is it possible we could be any luckier?” _

_ “I don’t think so, mate.” He had groaned, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “I don’t bloody believe so.”  _

And that had been enough. Her word. If Hermione said she’d be somewhere, she would be. 

“Search again,” hegrowls at the man standing before them. 

“Sir… Mr. Potter already had us— we already have. Twice!”

“A third time or I'll do it myself.”

“Ron—”

“I will fucking hex you into oblivion.” Ron has no patience for platitudes or anything but perseverance at the moment. 

“But, sir.”

“Find me a lead or I will kill—”

“Leave us.” A hand is on his shoulder and he swallows, stilling beneath the grip. 

“Keep searching. But, leave us.”

Ron wants to fight. He wants to argue. He wants to bloody his fist and leave a wake of destruction in his path. 

But it’s useless. She’s gone. There are no signs. No clues. 

He cannot breathe. 

The air has left the room, he’s sure of it. Someone is killing him slowly. Suffocation. 

His knees are buckling and strong arms surround him. He’s taller, but as he sinks to the ground, blue eyes meet green and the normal glint of confidence, assuredness, he's come to count on in those eyes is missing. He’s overwhelmed by the knowledge that Harry, too, is lost and fearful. 

“I don’t know what to do, Harry. Where is she?” His voice sounds foreign to his own ears. There’s pain and confusion, anguish and fear. 

“We’ll find her, Ron.”

“I can’t breathe without her, Harry.”

“Neither can I,” he murmurs, pressing warm lips to his temple. “Neither can I.”

————————

She knows at least a day has passed. It’s more difficult to determine because she slept. Fuck it all, she had tried to stay awake, but sleep had come and exhaustion overtook her and she slept. 

At least once. 

Perhaps more. 

But she knows the time has passed because the location of the faint glimmer of sunlight that filters above her head when she lifts her chin has changed. It had been low. And now it’s rising again. 

She hopes it has only been one day, but perhaps it has been more. 

She is feeling around her once again. Searching for anything to aid in her escape. 

There is dirt above her head, but only a bit. Her right arm lies in something wet and sticky. She’s pretty certain it’s blood, because it smells of metal and her right shoulder is throbbing. 

The ceiling to wherever she lies is but 6 inches above her face. She grasps feebly, pain shooting through her shoulder as she lifts her arm to palm the surface above her. It’s cold and wooden. 

Bile rises in her throat and she swallows it down. How would it appear if they find her and she’s covered in her own sick?

She laughs halfheartedly. 

They’ve been through worse. They’ll find her. 

The sides of her confines are approximately a foot away on either side. She gropes, bending her knees to reach the bottom and then stretching on her toes to reach the top. 

There’s a small circular hole in the top of her cell, about 2” inches above her head. If she stands on her tiptoes, she can feel cool air blowing through it and onto her face. 

She attempts to fit her left hand through it, her fingers squeezing together. She can feel a cool breeze, and her fingers stretch a bit more. There is a tube, maybe a foot long, just wide enough for her hand and forearm. When her fingers reach the air she strains them open and grasps around her. There is dirt above her, all around. 

Hermione retracts her hand and outlines her surroundings again with her fingertips. 

There’s nothing. Nothing to reach for purchase; to shimmy or climb or burrow her way out.

She’s felt her way around the entirety of her prison at least three times now. 

Six inches above her. Twelve on either side. A small hole with fresh air. Realization dawns on her. 

A box. 

Dirt above.

A coffin. 

Buried alive. 

She turns her head to the side, the contents of her stomach splattering the right side, top and bottom of her confines, mixing with the sticky blood and dirt already beneath her. 

“Harry!” She chokes, eyes burning. 

“Ron!” She gasps as she swipes at her mouth. 

“Please.” She cries, gasping as the acid burns her throat and nose. “Please, no.”

———————

Harry isn’t used to results taking this long. He’s not exactly one to abuse the privilege of his fame and notoriety, but when he asks for something… it gets done. And usually, pretty fucking quickly. 

“Find Hermione.”

Those had been his instructions. But, it is now the 14th of October, which means is has been three days since they have seen Hermione and still... no one has found her. 

Had Harry been a more arrogant man, he may have wondered why the world at large, the best and most elite of the Wizarding world, were failing him. 

“Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, Levy?” His voice is measured, calculated, cool and calm. He keeps his composure as he listens to the man before him speaking. 

“We’ve searched everything and everywhere you listed. Everywhere Mr. Weasley listed, as well. Shacklebolt’s team has searched every other yard. There isn’t a speck of ground unturned.”

“And?”

“And we can’t find her, sir.”

“Do it again.”

“We have, sir.”

“Then do it again.”

“Ten times, sir! There’s nothing left to search! Perhaps we should consider somewhere outside of—”

“They didn’t have much time. She left my office. She walked out of the building  _ with  _ Ron. We were to meet home less than an hour later and she never arrived.”

Levy stands there, staring at the floor. “They think, perhaps, we should consider changing the search parameters… not a missing person but—”

Harry inhales sharply, his voice hard and cold as he speaks. “The first seventy-two hours are the most important, aren’t they, Levy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And is Hermione Granger likely to have run of her own accord?”

“No… sir.”

“And has she shown signs of mental illness?”

Levy clears his throat before responding. “No, sir.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “She has?”

Levy glances at the ceiling before responding. “Well, some might say your relationship is… unusual—”

Harry stands slowly, his eyes never leaving Levy’s. “Some might accuse anyone who questions the marriage of the man who defeated the dark lord of being mentally ill. And the mentally ill have no place in law enforcement, do they?” 

Harry takes a step forward, rounding his desk and continuing to speak without stopping to listen for an answer. “However, the safety of one-third of the so called “golden trio”, my  _ wife, _ is in jeopardy. The woman who fought in the war, and defeated _ Voldemort,  _ by my side is missing. If you have to search the entire fucking wizarding world until the day you die, you will.”

Harry clears his throat as Ron walks through the door with Kingsley. 

“The next time someone knocks on my office door, it had better be with news of my wife, Levy. Am I clear?”

“Yessir.” His voice wavers beneath an exterior of bravado. Ordinarily, Harry would have commended him for his bravery and directness. But not today. Until they find her, nothing else matters. 

——————

_ “People will talk.” _

It’s a phrase she thinks about often. She always has, but moreso now. 

She remembers Ron’s face, in all of its incredulity, as he had stared at her. 

_ “Talk?”  _ He had laughed. “ _ Hermione. We’ve been talked about since Hogwarts. Our best mate has been Harry Fucking Potter since year one. When will people  _ ** _not_ ** _ talk?” _

_ “Harry Potter, Savior of the wizarding world is different talk than ‘The Golden Trio and the Golden Shower’ Ronald!”  _ She had hissed. 

_ “Is that something on your wishlist?”  _ Harry’s eye had quirked suddenly. 

“ _ No.”  _ She had blushed deeply. 

“ _ So,” Ron began, fighting a smile as he caught Harry’s eye. “I’d imagine as long as no one catches you being… well… pissed on, it’ll be a might bit easier.” _

_ “Ronald. Honestly!” _

_ “No, he’s right, Hermione.” _ Harry had laughed, pulling her into his shoulder. “I don’t even know if, as the Defeater of Voldemort,  _ I could help us out of that one.” _

“ _ Well, then,”  _ she had responded, smoothing her robes. “ _ I guess that’s settled.” _

_ “Will you get undressed and into bed now? Please?”  _ Ron had looked genuinely concerned and she had caved, dropping her robes and clothing to the ground before climbing into bed between them. 

They hadn’t slept well since the war. Not apart. Not unless they were together. Her head on Harry’s shoulder, her legs tucked between Ron’s. In the night she lay in the safety of their arms— wrapped in protection, shrouded from the world. By day  _ she  _ fought all who would seek to hurt them or the world they had created. 

The box she is in holds no such protection. She screams their names through the pipe above her all day and night. 

She wills them to her. 

Closer. 

She yearns for the safety of their arms. The scent of their bodies.

But it has been at least four days now. 

Her body aches to move. To stretch. 

The growling of her stomach has given way to untempered acid. The sensation of starvation beginning to dissipate. 

She had been parched when she awoke, a steady trickle of blood running from her sinuses and down her throat, raw from screaming and lack of water. But, now she is cold and wet, shivering. A thunderstorm had pelted the earth above her for hours. Her toes are cramped, but she had laid there for the duration of it, cool drops of water falling through the tube above her and into her open mouth. The water was life saving, she tells herself. She can deal with the subsequent cold and wet. 

She’s thrown up at least twice. 

Everything smells of vomit and stink. 

She’ll be a sight when they find her. 

Embarrassed at her predicament. 

Grateful to be in their arms. 

She’ll quit. 

They’ll just stay in bed all day. Fingers and mouths and hands lazily exploring places they’ve long ago memorized. 

She wants to hear Harry moan her name again. 

She misses the way Ron’s hand tangles in her hair as he kisses her before work. 

The scent of them. The two of them on her pillow. They are safety and they are home. And they are not there. 

—————

“FUCK. YOU. LEVY.”

Ron picks up speed, running down the hall as he hears Harry’s voice.

“I’m sorry, sir. But we—”

There is a loud crash and then he sees Levy sprawled outside in the hall beyond Harry’s office. Ron steps over him as he races into the office, wrapping Harry tightly in his arms. 

Levy stirs on the ground and Harry raises his arm to hex him again. 

“No,” Ron murmurs against his temple, steering Harry’s arm back toward his side. “Come on, love. Don’t shoot the—”

“It’s been seven days, he said.” Harry screams into the air. “He tried to give me the week speech, Ron!”

Ron freezes, crushing Harry to him as his eyes drift toward Levy who is pulling himself up onto his elbows. 

“You don’t know Hermione,” Ron spits at the man as he stumbles to his feet. 

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s standard procedure. We have to follow the timeline or—”

“Let me tell you a bit about the wisest witch of our age,” Ron growls as he stalks toward Levy, Harry still crushed to his chest. “She’s unstoppable, Levy. She’s a force to be  _ fucking  _ reckoned with!” 

“But, sir—”

Harry pushes away from Ron, staggering toward Levy and catching him in the left eyebrow with a right hook. He stumbles and hits the wall behind him hard enough to crack it. 

“Go fuck yourself, Levy. And if I see your face before Hermione is back in our arms, you're a dead man.”

Levy half runs, half stumbles from the hallway, clutching his face as he runs. 

“Well, that went well.” Harry looks as if he will throw up and Ron leads him back to the desk. 

“‘Mione would be proud.” Ron whispers, bringing Harry’s knuckles to his lips. 

“No. She’d be furious.”

“Nope.” Ron argues, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Remember when she decked Malfoy?”

Harry laughs. He laughs long and hard and so Ron joins him. And they laugh so long and so hard that they are crying. But it doesn’t help. It isn’t healing. They’re missing a part of them. 

“Hermione had a plan for that night, you remember?”

Harry smiles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m not liable to forget the day she walked out of my office declaring we were spending the weekend starting a family, mate.” 

Ron laughs. “I’m not ready to give up on that, Harry.”

“I’m not either. I’m not giving up. I’m not ever giving up, Ron.”

“Let’s bring our girl home,” Ron whispers fiercely. 

“Let’s.” Harry nods, walking toward the door. 

“Let’s get this sonofabitch.”

————

She doesn’t know how long it has been now. She does know the hunger has subsided and the cold is renewed, damper and cooler each day. 

Her hand throbs constantly. Her last exploration of the world above her had been interrupted by a creature, an insect, she thinks, judging by the bite or sting, she isn’t certain which, just knows it hurts. 

Her cries had subsided a while ago; her throat raw and hoarse from hours of unanswered calls. The nights and days are indistinguishable from one another. 

But still, she thinks as her eyes flutter again, losing a grip on consciousness, she has hope. 

They will come for her. 

She would come for them. 

They always have. 

They always will. 

There’s always hope. 

——-

  
  


“Wake up!” Harry startles awake and is on his feet immediately. He’s slamming his glasses onto his face and is running toward the door, following Ron, before he even knows why. 

“We have a lead. An old Muggle caretaker was cleaning the toilets below Hyde Park.”

“The muggle loos?”

“No. The ones they aren’t supposed to enter. He saw it said out of order, I suppose. Headed down to see if he could fix it… Called Muggle law enforcement when he saw blood on the walls and had a hell of a time convincing them to pass the signs and head down with them. We had to lift the charms.“ Ron pants as they race down the hall.

“Blood?” Harry stops in his tracks. “No body?”

“They said dark, curly hair. Female. I don’t know any more. C’mon.”

Harry can hardly breath as he takes Ron’s hand and they apparate together. 

It’s dark and cool outside, but he’s sweating as they run toward Levy in the distance. 

“Where is she?” Harry gasps as they sprint down the stairs. 

“There’s no trace of her, sir.” He flinches nervously as he speaks. 

A hand on his shoulder stops him short. “It’s not her, Harry.” Kingsley's voice is low and soothing, but it makes Harry angry. 

“What do you  _ mean _ ? Who is it?” Harry stops short as they come up to the body. Long hair is splayed out behind her, curls caked in a pool of dried blood. He watches as they roll her onto her back. From behind, she almost looks like Hermione. But everything about her is wrong. She’s too thin, missing all of the curves he knows so well. Her lips are fuller, and her eyes, though vacant, are too narrow.

“A prostitute. Local. Muggle coppers say she’s the fifth one missing in the last six weeks. They haven’t found the others yet. Looks like she was attacked and stumbled down here. I guess the muggle-deterrents were enough to keep the killer from following her.”

There is static from above and Harry watches as muggle uniforms walks down the steps. “Blimey. I never even realized there were extra toilets down this way. How’d we miss it?” He muses as he passes them. 

The static issues again and Harry hears a voice echo through the tiny chamber. “Yes. Same description. She looks like the others.” 

Ron freezes next to Harry. His voice is a whisper when he speaks. “What did you say?”

The man blinks at him. “Same M.O.?”

“I want to see the files. All of them. On the missing girls.”

“What?”

“Your case files. I want to see them all now.”

“On whose authority--” the man protests indignantly. 

“On mine.” Kingsley speaks loudly and the man nods before heading back toward the stairs. 

“You’ll have to come with me, then,” he says warily, motioning for them to follow him. 

“Ron, what--”

“Harry, we’ve been looking for someone magical. What if…”

Ron is white as a ghost as they lock eyes and Harry feels the blood draining from his face. 

“Oh my…” But then they are running again, and Harry is hoping against all hope this is the break they need… and they aren’t already too late. 

  
  


——

There is screaming in the distance. She can hear it through the pipe. It sounds like a woman. Any adrenaline she had to spare is gone now, and she can do little more than turn her head to the side, straining to hear. 

It’s the second time she’s heard movement outside. The first she’d screamed for Harry and Ron, begging for help from anyone. But there had been no response and after hours she’d given up, crying herself to sleep again. 

This time, she hears screaming and it is close. 

“HELP!” The voice is screeching. It sounds as if it is right above her. “Please! Someone help! Get away!” The voice continues. 

Hermione can hear the sounds of running, footfalls overhead. 

She wants to call out for help, but she has no voice left. So, she knocks on the lid above her, but she knows it is too faint for anyone to hear her. 

She hoists herself higher on her tiptoes, straining to see out the pipe above her, but it is dark, and she can see nothing. 

The sounds of a struggle ensue overhead. Hermione hears the woman scream again and then there is silence. It is a few moments before she hears the sound of someone digging, earth moving and creating a pile just over her head. 

Particles of dirt and sand fall through the pipe overhead and she sinks back down, trying to keep it out of her nose and mouth. 

She fights to stay awake, counting the movements. She can hear someone breathing heavily and knows she must not be that far below the earth. 

She wishes she could see more, to feel, to know anything. But, she can no longer reach through the pipe. Her right shoulder doesn’t move, from whatever injury she had suffered before finding her way into this box. And the bite or sting, whatever it had been, has swollen her entire left arm. It now lays uselessly at her side. The burning has faded, it is now simply numb, hanging there dead at her side.

It has been days since it had rained, and Hermione knows she cannot survive much longer without water. And it feels like weeks since she’s eaten. 

She’s disappointed. Not in her boys. No, she knows they’re looking. But in herself. In the idea that this is the end of her life. She’d very much wanted to bare their children. She’d wanted to grow old together. She can’t imagine a life without them both and realizes she’s sealing them to a life without her. It makes her sick and angry with herself and a strangled sob escapes her involuntarily.

A light suddenly appears, filtering into her tiny space. 

“You still alive in there?”

Hermione gasps, stretching her toes again in an attempt to see through the pipe. “Please. Yes, please.” 

Her voice cracks, hoarse as she strains for him to hear her. “Please, let me out. I don’t know why you… please.”

There is laughter, and she sees the light disappear again. 

“Please!” She shouts, coughing on the dirt and dust. 

“Please!” She screams for hours until darkness overtakes her once more. 

  
  


—

  
  


Harry and Ron haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since Hermione had gone missing twenty days ago. It’s Halloween now, and Ron barely has the presence of mind to register the significance of the date for Harry. 

They’ve followed every lead the Muggles have, double checking every bit of information personally. They don’t feel any closer than when they began and though neither will admit it outloud, their hope has begun to wane.

“Potter? Weasley?” Their heads snap to the door. 

The Muggle, Oliver, that they have been working with is standing there. “We uh--- we have a lead. There is an old farmhouse in Cranham. It’s really hidden in the woods. Some bloke out for an evening walk called in and said he heard screaming. When they arrived, they found--” He trails off.

“Found what?” Ron is on his feet, his knuckles white as they clutch the chair before him.

“Well, they’re still digging. But, they’ve found a load of bodies. They’ve dug up four so far and they just called us because they’ve all been identified amongst our list of missing so far, and…”

“Is she there?” Harry wobbles unsteadily on his feet and Ron wraps an arm around his waist. 

“We haven’t found her yet but…” Oliver swallows. “Mate, there are a number of graves. And they haven’t found anyone alive yet.”

“Where is it?”

“About two hours from here. I’m heading now, if you want to come with me.”

“We can go faster--” Ron starts to say, but Harry silences him with a look. 

“Give us a minute, we’ll be right with you.” 

“We can’t apparate, we don’t know where it is, Ron. We can’t fly for the same reason. And how would we explain beating him there?”

“We’ll obliviate him.”

“How many people might see us? We can’t obliviate them all. We might as well go with him.”

Ron thinks two hours is too long, but he knows they have no choice and nods in agreement. 

The ride there is too long and Ron wants to scream the entire time. His hand curls and uncurls into a fist, over and over again as the city lights fade in the rearview mirror. They’ve been on the road for an hour when Harry takes his hand tightly in his own, setting it in his lap. 

“Our Hermione is a fighter, Ron.”

“I want to be fighting for her. With her. She shouldn’t be alone. Not like this. Not all this time.” Ron is whispering, but he sees Oliver looking in the rearview mirror toward them. 

“She must be a pretty special woman.”

“There’s no one like her,” Ron whispers, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

Harry’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder now and Ron sinks into him.

The trees are growing denser and the car pulls to a stop. “We have to walk from here, lads. It’s too thick for us to continue.”

The radio crackles with static and a voice sounds “We’ve got a live one!”

Tears spring to his eyes unbiddenly. “This is it, Harry. This whole nightmare will be over soon,” Ron murmurs, wrapping his arms around Harry as they close the door. “Let’s hurry up.”

The walk takes almost another hour of pushing their way through woods, despite their pace. Oliver is panting with concentration as they push forward, but Ron’s mind is wandering. He can’t wait to hold her in his arms again. To take her home and perhaps never let her out of their sight again, or at least… not for a long time. 

He can tell Harry is having similar thoughts as they race through the trees and he turns to him. “It’s her. She’s okay, Ron. She has to be okay.”

He smiles tightly, hardly daring to hope.

And then there is a clearing before them and Harry is running. Ron matches him step for step as they race forward, sprinting toward the lights and crowd of Muggles in uniform surrounding a woman with dark, curly hair. 

“Hermione!” Ron bellows as he runs, his legs carrying him forward out of sheer adrenaline. He screams her name over and over as they approach the crowd and then he is elbowing his way through and she is in his arms. He crushes her to his chest, kissing her hair, the top of her head, her temples. 

She is crying, sobbing, screaming, and then there are people pulling her away from him. 

“Ron, let go!” Harry is shouting. “It’s not her!”

But it makes no sense, and Ron stumbles to his knees, staring from Harry to the woman shaking in terror in the arms of the coppers. 

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not  _ her _ , Ron. It’s not Hermione.” Harry is sobbing on the ground next to him, wrapping him in his arms. 

“There’s one more over here by where we found her! Another with a tube!” There’s a shout from across the field and Ron springs to his feet, following the voice. As he runs, he notices very shallow graves all around the property, wooden boxes lying inside and piles of dirt beside them. 

“He’s been… burying them? Burying these women?” He hears Harry beside him, disbelief evident in his voice. “I don’t--”

“There’s some evil you can’t understand,” an older man grunts, tossing dirt from his shovel to the ground beside him. He pauses to wipe his brow and Ron jumps forward and takes the shovel. 

“Allow us.” He grunts, digging furiously in the dirt next to Harry. His shovel hits something hard with a thud almost immediately, and he continues clearing the dirt as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to pull out his wand. 

The lid is clear then, save for a single pvc pipe, a mere eighteen inches long protruding from the top. Oliver is suddenly by his side to help them pry it open. 

“You may want to let me look first, Weasley… Potter.” He speaks softly but firmly, holding a hand up in front of them.

“That’s preposterous. Let her out! Quickly!” Ron shouts, pushing his way forward. 

“There’s been no sound. No noise from inside, lad.” The older man says softly, coming to stand next to Oliver as they block Ron and Harry from seeing what is behind them. 

“She made a lot of noise.” He nods toward the woman now being loaded into an emergency air lift across the field. 

It hits him like a bludger to the head, then. It was so silent. Why was she so silent? 

“The pipe is to breathe,” he says blankly. “She could breathe.”

“It’s been a long time, mate,” Oliver whispers, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“But the rest-- did they have the pipes?” 

The older man shakes his head. “No… it would appear he removed them once they passed.”

“So, there’s hope,” Ron says, shaking his head as the lid pops from the wooden box. 

“There’s hope,” he says it over and over again. 

“There’s hope,” he murmurs as he watches them lift a body from within.

“There’s hope,” he whispers as he watches Harry sprint forward, wresting Hermione from their arms.

“There’s hope,” he mutters to himself as Harry’s cries pierce the night sky and he sinks to the ground.

He mouths it wordlessly as Harry dumps Hermione into his lap and whips out his wand. Harry ignores the astonished gasps of the surrounding muggles as he kneels over her where she now lays in Ron’s lap.

Ron is kissing her face, her temple, wiping away dirt and blood and tears as he watches Kingsley and Levy appear on the horizon, shouting as they run. 

The words roll around heavily in his brain as he holds her, whispering affirmations of his love against her lips as the two aurors obliviate the Muggles surrounding he and Harry. 

“It’s no use.” He hears Kingsley beside them, after a time. “She’s gone, Harry.”

Ron blinks as Harry collapses to the ground, swearing and screaming into the black of night. 

“No.” Ron laughs. The very notion is absurd. 

“She’s right here.” He smiles, bringing Kingsley’s hand to her cheek.

“There’s hope,” he says again.

Kingsley is staring at him and Ron sees that his face is wet. “Weasley--”

“Come on, Harry,” Ron says, getting to his feet, Hermione in his arms. 

“Let’s bring our girl home.”

“What?” Harry is blinking up at him from the ground. 

“Get up. She’s been gone long enough. Let’s get her home.”

“I can’t let you--”

Ron’s wand is out and Kingsley is disarmed before he can finish his sentence. Levy’s wand flies similarly through the air, landing in Harry’s outstretched hand. 

He shifts Hermione’s weight as he keeps his wand on Kingsley. “No. She is coming home. With us. Where she belongs.”

“Ron, Harry--” Kingsley’s voice breaks as he watches them take one another’s hands, bearing her weight between them. 

“You can’t--”

“Goodbye, Kingsley.” Ron nods, wrapping his arm around Harry who is shivering, his cheeks glistening in the moonlight. He pulls Harry closer to him. 

“Bye, Kingsley,” Harry murmurs.

“Let’s go home,” Ron says clearly, and as the world compresses in on them he presses a kiss to Hermione’s forehead and holds Harry’s hand a bit tighter. “Home.”

  
  
  


  
  
  
  



End file.
